The Fight
by batchiq
Summary: A fight between sisters. And proof that I am obsessed with Winifred. Note: I only own the characters I created.


Whitney scowled as her sister began to unpack her bag. She watched with envy as Fred pulled out her Quidditch uniform, and glowered when she sighted the new beater's bat. Whitney crossed her arms and leaned against the wall with jealousy oozing from her very being.

Fred tried to ignore her twin's anger, but found it nearly impossible as she lay down in her bed. Her heart was still pounding from the try-out that day, her wrist stinging from the Bludger's blow. She had flown her best, and now, because of this, Whitney was never going to talk to her again.

Or so she thought.

"Why did you do it?" Whitney hissed.

"Do what?" Fred asked, turning from the canopy to her sister, who was half hidden in shadow.

"Why did you embarrass me in front of the entire Gryffindor house?"

Fred's blood began to boil. "I didn't try to embarrass you. You did a good job of it yourself when you mounted the broom backwards! Not to mention when you were too busy fawning over Oliver Wood and got hit upside the head!" She was sitting up now, and her voice and temper were rising.

Whitney stepped forward, and gave Fred an evil glare. "That's not the point. You out flew me today."

Fred rolled her eyes. "Of course I did! There was only one spot on the team, and I wanted it more than you did!"

"No you didn't!"

"Even if I didn't, at least my reason for wanting it is valid!"

"What do you mean?" Whitney seethed.

"I mean, I wanted to get on the team because I love the sport, not because I wanted to check out the boys-" her sister turned beet red- "or because I wanted the one on one sessions with Oliver Wood!"

Whitney's eyes became narrow slits. "How-dare-_YOU!_" Whitney lunged at Fred just as the door to the dormitory was opening. She pulled at Fred's hair, at her clothes, at anything that she could get her hands on, as Fred kicked and reached for her wand.

"STUPEFY!" Both girls froze and fell onto the floor. Professor Patil was standing there, an evil glare on her face. There were a few second years behind her, looking into the room with apprehension.

"Now, I am going to let you go, but you must stop fighting. Otherwise, I'll just stun you again. Clear?" She waved her wand and they scrambled away from each other. "I don't know what that was about, but, no matter. There will be no muggle dueling in this castle. You both will serve a detention tomorrow night. Ten points from Gryffindor for your childish behavior."

"But Professor-" Whitney started.

"Another word and I'll make it fifty." She turned and shut the door curtly.

Whitney glared at her sister and went to her bed and closed the curtains, then said just loudly enough for Fred to hear, "I hate you."

Fred placed her bucket in the bathroom sink and turned the hot water on. Her hands were raw, stinging from the cleaning potion that Professor Patil had given them to scrub clean the floor of the Great Hall. Her knees were shaking and bruised. There was no way that she would be any good on the pitch tomorrow. Her hair was all over the place, her knuckles bleeding. There was barely any light left in the castle, but she still had a quarter of the hall to do. Whitney had finished hours before, with the aid of most of the Gryffindor house. They had snuck in after Professor Patil had given them their punishment, and, with magic, they finished her part of the job in less than an hour. It wouldn't have mattered if Professor Patil had caught her any way: Whitney was every professors' favorite.

All of Gryffindor, with the exception of the Quidditch team, felt sympathy for Whitney. During breakfast, Fred had received a congratulatory letter from their father that spouted sparks and performed some form of a victory dance much to her horror. When Whitney had seen it, she ran out of the hall in tears. Nearly all the house had thought that she was being a show-off, or simply trying to rub it in her sister's face. Everyone frowned at her, some even whispered right in front of her, like she had just become some sort of outcast, unworthy of any company.

She turned the tap off, and hulled the bucket to the Great Hall. Tears began to trail down her cheeks as she poured the rest of the potion into the bucket then plunged both the cloth and her hand into its bubbly depths. The hot water stung her raw hands, and caused her to feel anger at herself for making the team. She pulled the cloth out and began to scrub the floor, her already torn knuckles rubbing against the harsh flagstone.

"It's not your fault, you know." A voice said, echoing throughout the hall.

"Yeah it is!" Fred whispered.

"How?"

"If I hadn't tried out for the Quidditch team-"

"Fred, Fred, Fred! That is almost like saying 'If I hadn't been a wizard.' Quidditch is your life, right?"

"Right."

"How long have you been on that team?"

"You know how long I've been the beater."

The voice was agitated. "Just answer the question."

"Since I was a first year."

"And how long has Whitney been on the team?"

"She never made the cut the first year. She just wanted to get in to see Oliver Wood."

The voice became stronger. "Then you're the one who should be beater, not Whit."

"But, she's so mad at me!" Fred scrubbed the floor so hard that she tore the skin on her palm clean off. She yelped at the pain and cradled her hand gingerly, watching blood coagulate at the surface.

The voice sighed. "Let me help you with that." A shadow came over the moon, and a slight wind feeling touched her palm.

"Thanks." She said, holding up her hand to see it completely healed.

"Fred, Whit's just a little irked, but she'll come around. She always does. Remember the time that you accidently lit her bed on fire?"

"Yeah, but this is different."

The voice seemed to become annoyed. "How so?"

Fred cracked her sore knuckles then continued scrubbing. "Then, no one knew about it but Mum and Dad, and she got a new bed in the process. Now, everyone in the school knows about her not making the team. There's no way that a new position'll be open on the team. It doesn't help that Mum and Dad charmed their letter to me." Fred had moved underneath the Slytherin table and tried to get a bit of Droobles off of the floor.

"No, George wasn't the brightest Galleon in the vault, but he loves you Freddie. And so does Whit."

The Droobles refused to come off the floor. It stubbornly stuck there, taunting Fred with its very existence. She used her thumb nail to try to pry it off, and succeeded in only breaking her nail.

"Fred. Did you hear me?"

"Yes." She said gruffly, still working at prying the gum off the floor.

"So?"

"It's still my fault." The voice began to tremble with frustration.

"I thought we had established that it wasn't your fault."

Finally, the gum came up. Fred tossed it in the bucket and watched it float down below the suds. "No, we hadn't established anything."

"Whit will come through. This will soon pass." The voice said, sounding sage-like.

"And then what will happen? I'll mess something else up, and she'll be mad at me. All of Gryffindor thinks that I'm scum."

"What about Teddy and Victoire?"

"Toire is in Ravenclaw, and Teddy is never around to talk to anyways." Fred moved out from under the table and sat on one of the benches.

"But did he say he thought you were an outright git?"

Fred looked at her soaked shoes. "No."

A clap sounded out of no where. "So, there. And what about James? And Jane?"

"They're all family. That's different than friends."

The sound of palm to forehead echoed throughout the hall. "Fine. What about Rebekah? Or Tommy? They haven't deserted you, have they?"

"I haven't seen them since double potions two days ago. We are all taking different classes. Rebekah wants to be a professor, Tommy a healer, and me… well, I dunno what I want to do just yet…"

Fred heard footsteps come closer to her, and dust on the table next to her began to swirl.

"Oh please don't do that! I'll end up in a sneezing fit again!" The dust began to swirl tighter and tighter until it formed the semi-solid body of a colorless man. "If I start to get the sniffles-"

"Then you'll sneeze, and I'll be all right. It's not like it hurts, anyway." The dust man sat next to her, and put a dusty arm around her shoulders, showering her with dust. "Look. I know it seems like this will go on forever, but I promise you, it won't."

"How can you be so certain?" Fred was crying again. A dusty finger started for her face, but Fred shook her head.

The man sighed. "Freddie. I know. You know all those great stories that your father would tell about me and him when we were in school?" She nodded, words unable to pass through her sobs. "Well, did he ever tell you about the time that I locked him in the girls' lavatory?" She shook her head, confused. "Of course he wouldn't. And he'd probably kill me if I wasn't already, well, you know-" She nodded, allowing him to continue.

"It was our first year. George and I were walking about the halls during History of Magic, as usual, and then out of nowhere Peeves showed up. We quickly ran down the hall towards the library, and went to the fifth floor using one of the short cuts that we had found about a week or so beforehand. Peeves had lost our trail, and we were back to our usual mischief. Well, we went to the second floor, and heard a sobbing noise come from the bathroom. Well, noble George decided that it would be a good tactic to go in there and cheer whoever the girl was up. So, he waltzes right in there. Me, I stayed behind because McGonagall had already threatened me with expulsion once that week. Then, suddenly, an idea hits me. Wouldn't be funny if the girl and George were locked in the bathroom, and I somehow rescued them? So, I locked the door. A minute or two later, George was pounding on the door, but I was long gone, trying to find a professor to show that he was locked in the bathroom. He didn't speak to me for a month."

Fred wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "But what does that have to do with this?"

He hit his head with his hand again. "It has everything to do with this! You're sixth year, figure it out!"

Fred looked at her feet again, and then into the face of the dusty man. "It means that she'll be mad for a while, but eventually get over it."

"That's my girl." He took a dusty hand and passed it over her face. "Now hurry up and finish this, will you? You have an exam in History of Magic tomorrow, and I don't want to see your straight O's to go down the drain." Fred smiled, then went back to scrubbing, feeling slightly better and a little stuffy.

Fall turned to winter, winter had turned to spring, and spring had almost become summer, and Whitney still hadn't talked to Fred, or at least, in a direct manner. She was beginning to think that the silent treatment would last forever. She sat in History of Magic, hoping that Professor Binns wouldn't see that she was drawing a diagram of the next match's tactics, her quill moving about rapidly as though she were really taking notes about the clash of giants and trolls in 1511. Halfway through drawing an elaborate Snitch, Professor Longbottom opened the door and whispered something to the ghost professor. He nodded and Professor Longbottom came down the row of desks and put a hand on Fred's shoulder.

"Come on, Whitney."

"I'm Fred."

"Sorry! Come on, Fred. Gather your things." Professor Longbottom left her to pack her parchment, quills, books, and ink into her bag in a hasty fashion.

_What's going on?_ Fred thought, her heart pounding. _Is everything all right?_ She went into the hall and found Professor Longbottom leaning anxiously against the wall.

"You need to go to the Headmistress's office. But first, where is Whitney?"

"Either in the library, or Care of Magical Creatures. What's going on, Professor?"

"I don't know. Oh, and where are Teddy, Victoire, and James?"

Fred wracked her brains, then replied, "Teddy's in DADA with Victoire. And I believe that James is supposed to be Divination, but is most likely wandering the halls, or in the hospital wing with a bloody nose."

"Thank you. Now off you go." Professor Longbottom scurried off, searching for another one of Fred's relatives. Fred went the opposite direction and headed to the office.

"What's that all about?"

"You know as well as I do." Fred said, irritated that he would ask such a thing as that in a time such as this.

"Well, I thought that maybe you would have figured it out." The dust began to swirl around her, and it formed into the dust man, who was walking at her pace.

"If people see you, they'll be freaked out." Fred pointed out as she peered down the halls.

"Yes, but that's if they see me. They might just think that I'm, well, dust and-"

"You're not helping!" Fred groaned as she slid down the banister of a flight of spiral stairs.

"Well, I-" His voice stopped, causing Fred to stop in her tracks. He rarely stopped mid-sentence.

"You okay?"

"They fixed it."

Fred looked around, perplexed. "Fixed what?"

"The hole."

"You're not making any sense. I have to go, come on!" Fred practically shouted.

"This is where I-" Realization smacked Fred over the head.

"Uncle Fred, come on. We can reminisce later." Her tone became gentler. In her haste, she had forgotten that she had gone down the very hall way where uncle had had his last laugh. "Please. Granddad Weasley could be hurt." At these words, the dust cloud practically Apparated to her side.

"Let's hurry." She said, relieved that she wouldn't have to comfort him. They hurried through the castle, taking the shortest route possible to the Headmistress's office. When they reached the stair case, the dust cloud disappeared, and Fred climbed the stairs, feeling light headed.

_What if Granddad Weasley is really hurt? Or worse! Or what if it's Uncle Harry? Or Uncle Ron? Or Daddy or-_ She stopped, seeing Whitney, James, and a slightly agitated Jane standing next to the door.

"Fred!" James came over to her and hugged her tight. "Everything's going to be all right now that you are here!" He said looking up at her with his stark blue eyes. Fred ruffled his hair, and looked Whitney in the eye. She narrowed her blue eyes then looked away. Jane looked from one twin to the next, trying to decide whose side to take. Before she had to make a decision, though, Teddy and Victoire came up the stairs, looking as utterly confused as the rest of them felt.

"What is this all about?" Teddy asked Fred, who in return shrugged.

The office door opened suddenly, scaring them. Professor McGonagall motioned for them to come inside, where they saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sitting in the two chairs that the room had. Fred hurried over to Mr. Weasley and hugged him tightly, one of her fears having been settled.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat, causing Fred to let go of her grandfather. "Your Aunt Kate died this morning." The room went ice cold. Fred looked at Whitney, who was beginning to tear up and immediately went to her side to comfort her. She was rejected, as she had expected, but not as roughly as she had been in the past.

"How?" Teddy asked the question on all of their minds after a good minute of heavy silence. "She wasn't old. She was in good health. How did she . . ." His voice failed him.

"It was an accident." Mr. Weasley started, his voice squeaky from crying. "She . . . well she, she was trying to harvest a few . . . dragon eggs. Got b-b-burned badly. Rushed to M-m-m-mungo's. Never m-m-m-made it thr-thr-thr-through the initial t-t-t-treatment." He put his head in his hands and sobbed. Mrs. Weasley patted his leg, tears streaming down her own face.

"You are all coming home today."

"But the finals!" Victoire choked out. "They're next week!"

Professor McGonagall held her hand up. "If you are out for the finals, I can arrange for you all to come here at a later date and you can take them then. Now, go get your things and come back to the entrance hall."

They were sent to the Burrow, where the funeral would be held in a day or two's time, depending on how soon Charlie could travel there with a baby and dead body in tow. Fred and Whitney were forced to share a room with all of the girls along with Victoire. There wasn't enough room in Ginny's old bedroom for the six beds that were crammed inside, which sent tensions even higher than they had been at Hogwarts. Fred groaned when she saw that the only two beds that hadn't been taken over were right next to each other. Whitney rolled her eyes at this and left the room.

"Now you'll be forced to make up." He said while she was getting out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

"Do you mind?" Fred glared at the spot where her uncle's voice had come from. She began pull her pants on underneath her skirt.

"Sorry, but I hate to see you fighting like this. It's been too long."

"I know. I've half forgotten what her voice sounded like since-" The door opened, Whitney with her school trunk in hand.

"Talking to yourself again, Winifred?" Whitney sneered, dragging the trunk into the space between their beds.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is." Fred said, trying not to cringe at the steely use of her full name.

"No, actually, I don't how it is not to have friends, Winifred."

Fred had her back turned to Whitney, her eyes watering.

"What's the matter, Winifred? Did you want to talk to yourself again, Winifred? Or do you want-"

Fred spun around, the tears falling thick and fast. "Why are you doing this to me?" She asked quietly, feeling an invisible arm go around her shoulders.

Whitney seemed to be unperturbed, but the tone of her voice had betrayed her. "Doing what?"

"You know what!" Fred looked out the window and watched James chuck a garden gnome over the fence.

"Because of the try-outs."

"The try-outs were almost a year ago."

"I know, but you really hurt me then and-"

"And what do you think this has done to me?" Fred whispered.

"Nothing." Whitney slammed her trunk shut and Fred heard the creak of camp bed springs as she sat.

"Well, let me tell you something about nothing." She turned around and leaned against the window sill. "All of the people who used to be my friends now think that I'm the worst person on earth. I've had to deal with some form of taunting at least once every class. Not to mention all of the hate mail that I received from people who don't even know me, some of which filled with dragon dung or worse. And every time I get stuck in the hospital wing from a Quidditch injury, all of Gryffindor house comes and laughs at my bedside. Does that sound like nothing to you?" Her voice had become shrill from all of the pent up despair.

"Well, it's not that bad."

"How is that not bad?"

Whitney crossed her arms. "You got on the Quidditch team. I didn't."

Fred's lower lip began to quiver. "All of this is just for that stupid spot on the team?"

"Well, yeah! You got to meet Oliver Wood and had one on one sessions with him and everything."

"No I didn't."

Whitney cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah you did. I would watch you out on the pitch every practice, hoping to get a glance of Oliver!"

"It wasn't one on one. He came to maybe three practices, and mainly worked with the seeker and chasers. If you had even opened up one of my apology letters, you would have found that there was a special dinner with him before every match. Where family and friends are welcome. You could have met him, Whit." Fred wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I tried to make it up to you. I tried. You even ripped up a pair of World Cup tickets that I had saved up for all year. I tried. I really did." Fred hung her head, her uncle's arm tightening its grip around her.

"Well, you see, I. . . . The point is that . . ." Whitney couldn't finish. Her eyes were beginning to well up with tears too. Fred felt the arm's pressure slowly dissipate as Whitney began to sob uncontrollably. Fred closed her eyes and wept as the bed springs creaked again, and Whitney wrapped her arms around her twin. And for the first time in ages, Fred didn't feel the grit of dust as someone gave her a comforting hug.


End file.
